Apocrypha
by Laota
Summary: And alternate course of action that leads to another. If you didn't flinch at Jay and Silent Bob Stirke Back, this is the 'Shipper fic for you!


**Apocrypha**

_by Laota French_

4:26 AM, Sunnydale California. Faith walked in the bike lane along side of the highway, holding out a bright green feather as the wind tossed her hair around. She could hear an engine purr coming from the woods behind her and could clearly see a headlight dance behind the trees, but she made a point of not noticing. Spike rode his motorcycle out of the woods and pulled up beside Faith. She turned away bitterly, threatening to walk off. 

"I shouldn't have blamed you," he said, trying to get her attention. "It's just- with everything going on-." 

"Can you make this short?" she snapped, turning back to him. "'Cause I got this feather to shill. Twenty cents doesn't reap itself..." 

"Hey, I'm trying to apologize here, no need to pitch a fit." 

"Oh, so now I'm the one with Phantom-Bitch Syndrome? You _hit_ me-." 

"I didn't mean to!" 

"So, what- you were tryin' t'mark the Zorro and 'accidently' gave me five across the eyes?" 

"Yeah-- I mean, _no_. I was wrong, I wanna make it up to you. C'mon, lemme buy you a drink." 

Faith folded her arms against the cold and looked Spike over, rocking her weight back. "I would," she lied, "but after I sell this feather, I...got this big party I'm supposed to go to." 

"Right." Spike thought hard for a moment. "I'll buy the feather." 

"_Yeah_?" She looked at the feather appraisingly and smiled. "Twenty bucks." 

"Wh- you said twenty cents!" 

"Yeah, well, it's an authentic feather. The price just went up; deal weeth." 

Spike's nostrils flared as he scowled at Faith, looking as if he might hit her again, but then began to grin, taking in her snotty expression. "Can I owe it to you?" he asked softly, letting his head fall to one side. 

"Well, I can save it for you." 

"Even better. C'mon, lemme take you home." 

"Thanks, but...I got that party." 

"Well, then. I'll give you a lift." Faith's eyes darted around suspitiously. 

"Yeah. Why not? I mean, they laughed at the guy who invented beer, right?" 

"Yeah, I'll bet they did. Hop on." Going around back of the bike, Faith put the feather in her pocket and mounted the Bitch Seat nervously, anxiety in her eyes as Spike drove them back through the woods, chuckling to himself. They both wondered how Faith was going to pull a party out of her ass in the next few minutes, then took a moment to laugh inwardly at the mental snapshot of some one pulling a party out of their ass. 

They rode around town for ten minutes with Faith giving Spike crap directions, but as they reached the other side of town, they saw a raging bash going on at the end of the block. Neither of them could believe it. 

"So," Spike choked, "that the place?" 

"It is? I mean- damn _straight_, it is." He took them up to the front yard. As they passed a butt-load of guys spazzing out on their skateboards in the driveway, Faith recognized a short, skinny slacker-type with shoulder-length blonde hair. Her ex-cellmate's ex-boyfriend. She dismounted the bike before Spike could stop, and started over for the guy. "Tray?" she called out, giving him enough of a shock, he let his board go out from under him. Faith stopped it with her foot and brought it back to him, helping him up from the pavement. "Tray, what are you doin' in Sunnydale?" 

"Long story," he said with a stupid smile. "What are you doin' outta prision?" 

"Long story- like yours, only better." She took the feather out of her pocket. 

"Dude, that's a great feather- is it authentic?" 

"Yup." 

"Aw, **sweet**, can I buy it off ya?" 

"Well, I'm supposed to be saving it for some one..." 

"Oh, cool. That's cool. So, you wanna come inside, mix some drinks?" 

"Yeah-. Oh, this," she motioned to the vampire standing in the gutter with his mouth open, "is Spike. He doesn't talk." 

"Thank god, I thought it was Johnny Slash, back from the dead. So, he can't talk?" 

"Don't know; never tried. And Johnny Slash? Not a real dude." She turned to Spike. "You wanna come in?" He raised his brows, completely lost, and Faith went back down the driveway and got Spike by his lapel, pulling him away from the bike. "Meet you inside," she said to Tray as they passed. Spike gave the guy a nod. 

"M'Spike," he grunted retroactively. Faith continued dragging him to the house. When they got to the door, Spike hovered close to Faith, talking into her ear. "Y'know, I'm kinda glad we came here. Maybe we could spend some time togerther, y'know, really get to know eachother." 

"Sure," Faith said, somewhat distracted. 

"S'nice, iddn't? Just the two of us...none of those li'l girls gettin' in the way." Of course, Faith wasn't listening, since she'd caught site of the last thing Spike needed if he wanted her attention. Somewhere at the party, there was a girl that looked like Faith, and upon seeing her, Faith was instantly turned on. "So...why don't I get us some drinks?" 

"Huh? Yeah, okay..." 

He smiled at her and walked to the bar, then he came back a minute later, with Screwdrivers in plastic cups. Faith was gone. Feeling as out of his depth as a pagan in Salt Lake City, he wandered around the house, trying to get a beat on where Faith might've gone. When that didn't pan out, he started searching the rooms. "Maybe she's playing a game," he thought, wending his way upstairs to check the bedrooms. Sure enough, the first one he checked paid off. He set one of the drinks between his arm and chest, and opened the door to find Faith sitting Indian style on the bed, beside a simpering, passed-out brunet, who was lying on her back. Faith had been trying to part the girl's hair in the middle. 

"_Found you_," Spike growled happily. "I was getting us drinks." 

"Oooh, give it," she chirped, scrunching the girls hair. 

"Now, hang on! I went to the trouble of getting the drinks, searching this hovel for you, not to mention driving you around the whole, bloody town and promising twenty bucks for a sodding feather-." 

"Which I've yet to see, by the by-." 

"I didn't put meself through all that, just to come here and wait on you hand and foot, little girl." Faith smirked and rested back on her elbows, stretching out on the bed. 

"Then, what did you come here for?" Slowly, Spike's smile returned, and he crept over to the bed, handing Faith her drink and sitting beside her. "Whatta ya think?" she asked, alluding to the girl on the bed. 

"Bloody hell," Spike said to himself in quiet astonishment. "You do good work, love." 

"You got no idea. So...you up for it?" Spike looked from Faith to the girl, then back at Faith, wearing a contented expression. 

"Why not? They laughed at the man who invented beer..." He leaned in to Faith, as outside the house, some kids were stripping his motorcyle down. He felt her lips brushed against his, and her torrid breath on his neck. Stirring him- not to passion, but into peace. 

"God," he gasped. 

"Damn," Faith said softly, transforming his sentiment. She could feel the coolness of his cheek as it touched her face, having an instant of solace. "B.'s a luckier girl than I thought." 

At Faith's mumbled whisper, Spike pulled away quickly, remembering himself. When he looked back at her, his face and voice were wrought with guilt. "...What are you doing?" 

"What are _we_ doing," she pressed on smirkingly, oblivious to his meaning. 

"This isn't a game!" Spike roared, pushing her away and throwing his drink at the wall. He climbed off the bed and started for the door, Faith in pursuit. 

She grabbed his arm and turned him back, not knowing what else to do. "Who said I playin'?" she snapped in reply. "Look, if you got a problem cheatin' on yer imaginary girlfriend, just say so, but I don't remember puttin' a gun to your head... I don't..._remember_ puttin' a gun to your head-. Anyway, you don't get to hunt me down, talk me into goin' out for drinks, hop into my lap and cry Bad Touch. It's not like I'm a rapist." Spike cast a sarcastic eye to the girl on the bed. "She wanted a good time! Better off with us then some pre-vert lookin' t'leave her in a bathtub fulla ice, plus a scar an' sans her favorite kidney! Besides, I don't remember you sportin' moral-one 'til I laid the B-word down. She so easy t'forget about, you love her so damn much?" Faith threw her drink at the wall- mocking him- and they both began to fume, getting in each other's' faces as they fought. 

"You're way out of your depth, here, slayer! You don't know the first thing-." 

"Piss, puss, tit. You wanna call it off, I'm right there with ya! But how 'bout you save the innocent choirboy act for Short-term Memory Guy! Unless you wanna hit me some more-." 

"As I recall, you weren't exactly turing the other cheek!" 

"Hey, self-defense, a'right- you had it comin'! Didn't bother t'know crap from Christmas when you came in, you just saw yer precious Buffy was gone and started droppin' bows-." 

"You **betrayed** her!" 

"That somethin' you'd know a lot about?" They glared at each other hatefully, less than inches apart. 

"Are you as hot as I am?" he growled zestfully, hovering his face in front of hers. 

"No," she started, panting and taking a step back. "Why, you hot er somethin'?" 

He closed in, drawn to the heat that rose from her. Trying not to be taken over by the smell of her skin, or the maddening sound of her heart pounding inside her cheast."We should go." 

"What, right here?" she muttered. "...Oh. I get it... Yeah. We need t'plow...before somethin' happens." 

"Wouldn't want anything to happen." 

"I know I don't,...if you don't." 

"Me neither,...if you don't." 

"'Cause that'd be wrong...and we should do the right thing." 

"Because _this_...is wrong." 

"Right," she sighed, her voice breaking with frustration as she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. "There's this whole thing,...where it's wrong." 

"And bad," he added, whispering into her ear. 

"And dirty. God, d'you feel dirty?" They began kissing each other passionately, grunting and groping their hands over each other's's bodies as Faith forced Spike's duster down his back and off his arms. 

"This is **wrong**," he moaned through a kiss. 

"Yeah, we're **bastards**..." 

Fin 


End file.
